


Coming Up For Air

by Bellamyed



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Librarian!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellamyed/pseuds/Bellamyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a kiss she would feel on her lips for weeks, a kiss that invoked a feeling that she would spend the rest of her life trying to draw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Up For Air

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://octaviablake.co/)!

It started out as just a way to make extra cash, a work-study opportunity that Clarke had been excited about. Spending exhausting amounts of hours in the school’s library was something she didn’t mind doing—it gave her the chance to study without any distractions, and the paycheck didn’t hurt. Most of the money she’d made went to tuition and housing costs, but there was a small fraction that she got to pocket, and that usually went to art supplies. All in all, she liked it. The quiet was good. Well, it was good while it _lasted_.  
  
She wasn’t sure where he’d come from, perhaps a transfer or a new graduate student, but the tall boy whose curls fell into his eyes most of the time was solely responsible for the lack of tranquility in the library as of late. The new semester always came with challenges, new students that didn’t know how to navigate their system or didn’t know how to turn in their books on time. There was always a little bit of chaos in the first few weeks, but the no-name, curly-haired boy was a different type of chaos all together.   
  
The first time he’d approached the information desk, wearing a dark blue Henley and black jeans, she didn’t even look up at him. She was engrossed in Letters To Theo and figured she could answer any undergrad’s question without giving it her full attention.  
  
“I’m assuming you work here,” he stated. His voice, full of gravel and honey at the same time, made her finally tear her eyes away from her book. Clarke looked from the sign that very clearly read ‘INFORMATION’ back to him, and lifted her eyebrows.  
  
“One who sits behind the library’s information desk, generally, is employed by the library. At least in my experience.” Her eyes went back down to her book.  
  
“You’re awfully cheerful. I thought librarians were supposed to be nice?”  
  
Clarke sighed softly and shut the book, leaving a blue sticky note to mark her place. When she looked up at him again, he was smiling. Great, she thought, he’s one of those dickheads that’s attractive and totally _knows_ it.  
  
“First week of the new semester, people ask a lot of the same questions. Sorry. Did you need help finding something? All the introductory textbooks and lit are going to be in that section,” she pointed to the back left corner of the room, a forced smile forming on her lips.  
  
The boy didn’t look back, but instead kept his eyes on her. “Actually, I’m a grad student,” Typical. “And I wanted to know if your history section is always so sparse?”   
  
Clarke eyed him skeptically. She loved their history section, it was her favorite part of the library to catalog and shelve. No one had ever complained before. 

 

\--

 

 

And that’s how it went for the next month. Nameless boy would come in, complain about the lack of text on a certain subject (mostly Roman history, she’d learned), and leave the library promptly after writing down the name of a desired text and giving it to her, insisting that they add it to the collection. “It’s necessary for history majors and art history majors alike. The fact that you don’t carry it, not even on a digital format, is a travesty.”  
  
Then, as the weeks went on, he could be found walking the aisles of the history section, cataloging the titles himself, and pulling out books sporadically when something caught his attention. He would sit for hours in the aisles; legs crossed and back slumped, completely in his own world as he consumed the text.   
  
She finally learned his name one rainy night in November, when she was closing the library and kicking everyone out. The clock neared 1 a.m. and her eyes were heavy with lack of sleep, but he still sat, a pile of books at his side as he flipped the pages of his current read frantically and excitedly. As she approached him, she leaned onto one of the shelves and folded her arms over her chest.  
  
“You know, there is this thing called checking-out. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. Most libraries offer that feature.”  
  
He didn’t look up from the book as he responded. “I like to read here. It’s quiet.”  
  
“It used to be quieter before you started your daily complaint log.”  
  
“Not my fault your history section is lacking,” he countered, still not making eye contact with her.  
  
“You don’t seem to mind too much.”  
  
Finally, he closed the book, giving her his eyes as he let out a sigh. “I’ve actually already read these, but it’s nice to get a refresher sometimes. Maybe see something that wasn’t there before.”  
  
Clarke’s face didn’t betray that she agreed with that statement, that she’d reread her favorite books hundreds of times. Not many understood the beauty in rereading, in finding connections that were absent the first time, or seeing symbols that would only be obvious the second time around.  
  
“Whatever the case, it’s closing time. Either check it out, or get lost.”  
  
“Cheerful as ever.”   
  
“Tired as ever.”  
  
He stood then, and began to carefully shelve the pile of books back to their allotted spaces. She opened her mouth to object (people always thought they were doing it right, but generally screwed it up), when she realized that he hadn’t misplaced one yet. She started to walk away, but his voice made her stop.  
  
“Does the grumpy librarian have a name?” he asked, the honey-gravel voice still ever present. She turned on her heel, putting forth her best smile.  
  
“Clarke. Clarke Griffin. Art major.”  
  
“Well, Clarke-Griffin-Art-Major,” he began as he shelved the last of his books. “I’m Bellamy Blake.”

 

\---

 

To say that Bellamy Blake had started to grow on Clarke was an understatement, especially when food got involved. He spent so much time at the library that he knew her shifts easily, and when it was a morning one, he came in with two coffees in tow. Sometimes, if she was particularly cheerful, he would give her both, stating that she needed him more than he did.   
  
And then he started bringing her muffins. And pastries. Clarke always smiled, thanking him and scarfing them down when he wasn’t looking. When she had the night shift, which stretched later and later as finals approached, he would bring her more coffee, accompanied with candy and sometimes even French fries. She couldn’t deny that she loved it, she’d begun to look forward to whatever treat he’d bring in for her when she got ready for her shift.   
  
The favors were repaid tenfold when she let Bellamy stay in the library after hours one night. It was going to be a late one for her anyway; college kids got really sloppy around finals and rarely put books back where they belonged. The tables were stacked with books from every section of the library. She sighed as she placed them all onto a cart and began her journey through the sections, shelving and tidying the parts that were in disarray. It wasn’t until deep into the night, around 3:41 a.m., that Clarke realized Bellamy was doing it too. She’d caught him in the Anatomy section with an arm full of books and a dozen more on the floor by his feet. His index finger caressed the spines as he located the correct place for the book in his hand, and he nearly dropped the rest when he caught her staring.  
  
“You do know that you don’t work here, right?” she asked, much less malice in her voice than she wished.

“Figured you could use the help. This place is a wreck.”

“Shelving for free? Really? Don’t you need to study?”  
  
Bellamy eyed her and set the books down next to the pile. “I’m pretty confident. I’ve been studying for weeks. And plus, my apartment is too loud anyway.”  
  
There it was. There was the reason why he rarely left the library, why he preferred to get all of his reading and writing done there. His apartment was too loud. Sucky roommates were awful, and she couldn’t blame him for seeking the peace and quiet.   
  
“Well, thanks. I think this is the last section.”  
  
“So we’re done?”  
  
“ _I_ am done,” she pointed to herself. “You, again, don’t work here. But that does mean you’ve got to go.”  
  
“Fine,” he surrendered, leaning down to pick up a handful of books and giving them to her. “You hungry?”  
  
In truth, she was famished. The shift had been long, and the overtime had been even longer. She nodded softly as she tucked away Atlas of Anatomy and silently thanked her lucky stars that she’d become an art major instead of listening to her mother and going pre-med.   
  
“I could eat,” was all she said, not looking back at him.  
  
“Great. There’s a joint down the street that’s open 24 hours. They’ve got pepperoni pizza slices the size of your head. Extra greasy.”  
  
“Lovely,” she remarked, but it sounded undeniably good.

 

\--

 

After finals, Bellamy didn’t show up at the library for a couple of weeks. It was odd, considering he practically lived there, but Clarke tried not to think too much into it. Finals had probably exhausted him, and most kids went home for the break. Only the lucky few that came from out of state and couldn’t afford to the plane ride (like her) got to stay on campus. It was like a ghost town.   
  
It was just her and one other girl that maintained the library; putting the systems to sleep and making sure the shelves didn’t get too dusty. The hours were short during break and she wasn’t there often, but when she was, she would look for him. After the second week of nothing, she figured he’d hauled ass out of town without even thinking of saying goodbye to the grumpy librarian girl. 

Three days before Christmas Eve, a heavy storm nearly flooded the campus, making the streets and sidewalks nearly unmanageable. She’d almost called in, but she felt bad leaving Jess to alone so close to the holidays. The shifts had become unbearably boring, and she would’ve hated if Jess left her to fend for herself in the empty library. She was sopping went when she walked through the glass doors, her raincoat dripping onto the carpet and her shoes soggy with mud and grime. It didn’t take but two seconds to lay eyes on him, sitting alone at his favorite table in the history section. 

When she’d dried off and tidied her appearance as best she could, she made her way to him, picking up a few stray books as she walked.   
  
“I thought you’d left town.”  
  
This time, he looked up from his book right away.  
  
“Did you miss me?”  
  
“Mostly just the food and coffee, if I’m being honest.”  
  
That earned her a laugh, and she hated how that sound made her belly knot up. She hated that she _had_ missed him, terribly in fact.   
  
“Don’t worry, princess. I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”  
  
She’d given Jess the go-ahead to leave early that night, when 1 a.m. approached and Bellamy was their only patron. Clarke abandoned the information desk and took her laptop to his table, where she began to make lists of the required reading for the next semester. They sat next to each other in silence for the next hour, comfortable and unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.   
  
When 2 a.m. struck and her eyes started to grow heavy, she leaned her head onto Bellamy’s shoulder. It was so natural that it hadn’t even occurred to her that they’d never done anything like that before, that they’d never straddled the lines between friendship and something more. He didn’t object, didn’t even _flinch_ , but instead took one of his large hands from the book he’d been engrossed in and set it on her jean-clad thigh, and began to rub soothing circles into the material with his thumb. The soft, almost delicate touch had Clarke’s insides sparking up, and she was certain that her skin began to hum.

Her forehead pressed deeper against his neck and she could feel his pulse, the only tell that he was just as nervous (and excited) as she was. Maybe it was the 2 a.m. curse of doing stupid things, or maybe the sexual tension had suddenly become overpowering, but Clarke began to press soft, wet kisses into Bellamy’s neck. His breath caught in his throat, and he squeezed her thigh in turn, chuckling darkly in the dim light of the library. 

Without removing his hand from her leg, he turned, letting the book fall shut without care for his place. His free hand cradled her cheek and stared at her, hard and intensely for a moment, before he finally kissed her.  
  
Clarke had kissed people before. Some boys were good kissers, they knew how to touch you and where to lick you in order to get you hot, and some girls had been better kissers, _they_ always seemed to know just the right place to hit with their tongues to get Clarke going. But none of them, not even the best of the bunch could compare to this, the way both of Bellamy’s hands were now on her face, tangling into her hair and pulling her closer. None of them had made her feel like she was burning up from the inside out.   
  
It was a kiss she would feel on her lips for weeks, a kiss that invoked a feeling that she would spend the rest of her life trying to draw.  
  
When they were both breathless, Bellamy’s lips met her ear. He was panting, and so was she, but his warm breath against her skin made it really hard not to crawl into his lap and ride him right then and there. When his deep, husky voice sounded in her ear, she had to bite back a moan.  
  
“I’ve wanted to do that for months,” he whispered, taking her earlobe into his mouth.  
  
“And here I was thinking you just really liked to read,” she sighed, the words barely audible.  
  
“I do. Would you believe me if I told you I actually enjoy studying?” he had started to lick at the spots where he’d sunk his teeth, and Clarke was falling apart with every caress.  
  
“No, I wouldn’t.”  
  
He laughed then, uninhibited, and she could feel her stomach do an actual flip. At that, he pulled her up from her chair and placed her on the table, her thighs bracketing his hips as he continued to tear her apart with his mouth.  
  
“I like books. Maybe a little too much, I’ll admit. You and your sunshine-like demeanor were just a bonus.”

“Bellamy,” she pleaded, and he reared his head back to look at her. “Stop talking.”


End file.
